


nasty, short & brutish

by havisham



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Cornelius Hickey Is His Own Warning, Drinking Games, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rough Oral Sex, Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-25
Updated: 2020-11-25
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:22:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27671314
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/havisham/pseuds/havisham
Summary: Deep into his alcohol withdrawal, Crozier receives an unexpected and unwelcome visitor.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Cornelius Hickey
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25
Collections: Hickeyshipping 2020





	nasty, short & brutish

**Author's Note:**

  * For [libraralien](https://archiveofourown.org/users/libraralien/gifts).



_"No arts; no letters; no society; and which is worst of all, continual fear, and danger of violent death: and the life of man, solitary, poor, nasty, brutish and short."_

Thomas Hobbes, _The Leviathan_

“Sir,” said Hickey as he appeared from some dark corner of the chamber, like a demon from one of Crozier’s alcohol-soaked daydreams. He was not allowed in here and Crozier did not want him here, and yet. Here he was, a contrived look of sympathy on his face. He held out a hand, to forestall protest. “I know I am not wanted here. But I have a gift for you.” 

Like a magician, Hickey produced a bottle and waggled it in front of Crozier’s face. The swish of liquor was loud in the quiet of the room. Crozier was still, shocked into silence. 

“Imagine my surprise when I saw your man hide this away.” Hickey squatted down, so his face loomed large in Crozier’s view. He was grinning horribly, his smugness almost another body in the room. 

Close, too close. Crozier wanted to vomit out the meagre bits of porridge that Jopson had managed to feed him. He couldn’t. Where was Jopson? He wouldn’t have left Crozier to the depredations of such a man — never. Unless he could not help it. Unless he had been stopped. 

For the first time, Crozier looked at Hickey with something like fear. Hickey saw his fear. Enjoyed it. But at long last, he chuckled and shook his head. “He’s all right. Just delayed. But you _want_ him to be delayed, Captain. Otherwise, how could you have this?” 

He opened the bottle and the smell of whisky invaded the room. It made Crozier’s mouth water with _want._ Just a little taste of it would be enough. His last — his very last sip. It was the end of the world and he deserved a taste of something familiar before he went. He shifted in his bed and pressed his face against the pillow, his shame and longing fusing together in an inarticulate cry.

Hickey touched him, his thin fingers threading through Crozier’s hair, which Jopson had trimmed just that morning. When Crozier lifted his head, he saw the expression on Hickey’s face. His eyes were bright, and his triumph total. 

“You’d lick my cock for a taste of it, wouldn’t you? Sir.” 

“I would,” Crozier croaked out, for what was the reason to deny it? They both knew he would. But still, Hickey grinned at the admission, a feral and wide grin. His teeth gleamed in the pervasive gloom. 

“What more would you do? Say it. My imagination fails me.” 

“A kinder man would not seek to enslave another for one sip and the illusion of more.” 

“I am not a kind man, sir. Neither are you.” 

“No,” Crozier agreed with a shudder. He rolled over with a gesture of surrender. If he expected to have a gentle time of it, however, he was wrong. Hickey pulled him forward with a jerk. His cock was out almost immediately and Crozier was aware of a different hunger, of a different thirst. It was a part of himself that was easier to loathe than it was to burn. He did not. He could not. He leaned forward and let Hickey have his due. 

Hickey’s cock was small, like the rest of him, but well-shaped and surprisingly healthy. Crozier was reminded of the flogging, of smooth, well-muscled skin, and his slight surprise that Hickey was not outwardly diseased as most of his mates were. 

Hickey’s disease was ever on the inside, it seemed. 

Hickey was still soft when he shoved his cock into Crozier’s slack mouth, but he hardened as he jerked in and out. The bottle shook in his hand, and at first, Crozier could not understand the trickling sound. He thought Hickey had made water in his mouth, but in truth, he had done something worse. 

Hickey was pouring the whisky down Crozier’s throat, against his cock. He was _wasting_ it. Crozier felt as though his head was on fire, his heart, his all. He clutched at Hickey’s hips, trying both to get away and to come so much closer. He licked desperately, sucked at both the cock and the liquor.

“Imagine Captain Fitzjames seeing you now, sir. As low as any whore could ever be.” 

Crozier pulled away with a cough. The thought of James seeing the depths of his degradation appalled him even more than the thought of Jopson doing the same. Jopson had seen him at his lowest. James had not. 

He wiped his mouth, licking at his fingers. “I defer to you on the experience of whoring. I’ve no authority on the matter.” 

Hickey chuckled and slapped his face gently. “I have confidence in you, sir. You’ll learn soon enough.” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to my beta!


End file.
